Let Me Hear Your Body Talk
by iluvtwilightmre
Summary: Poor Bella. A virgin. At 23. No urges or interest in sex, you see. Until she meets a new patient at her physical therapy center. Hostile and complex, this man has the potential to change her outlook on life, love and most importantly, her body. Is it also possible that she might just tear his world apart?...Like you wouldn't believe. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **NOTE** This story will be a combination of Romance/Some Angst/Humor**

**SUBJECT SPECIFIC WARNING: This fic **may **contain** **some MINOR alcohol abuse by a character of legal age-I say minor because I haven't decided yet.**

* * *

><p><strong>Let Me Hear Your Body Talk<strong>

I'm a virgin. And 23.

And yes, I know what you're thinking—_…Bullshit. It's 2011 for Christ's sake! No one over the age of practically 18 is a virgin, I mean I know I'm not…_

But I couldn't be more serious. I'm just… simply not into sex.

Which is why it makes sense that I'm a virgin in all ways, shapes and forms—I've never kissed a man, I've practically never touched anyone of the opposite sex and I've never… ummm, _touched myself,_ down there. It would seem that I've just never had those special urges that all my friends had when they were in high school and of course presently.

…You know the one time I even _did_ try to please myself, my hand traveled as far as my navel and then I simple couldn't bring myself to commit such an act.

I felt…dirty. And I still do feel that way. And what's worse is that I can't even look at nude women in movies or something like that because I feel like a pervert of some nature!

_And_, I—… *sigh, I apologize. This always happens when I talk about intercourse.

Anyways, what I was trying to do was give you a little background information about me, Bella M. Swan, and instead I got sidetracked on _that_ topic…

*Sigh, I'm going to hell…

Okay then, so I apologize for my foul mouth and I let me start over again.

My name is Bella M. Swan, I'm 23, and also one of the youngest physical therapists in the country… It's a tad ironic that I'm practically afraid of sexual intercourse yet my occupation deals with the human anatomy on a daily basis…

Oh fuck me!

Whew, ok then. I _once again_, apologize for becoming sidetracked. And swearing.

I once swore like a sailor, but my new years resolution was to reduce my curses.

…The comedic aspect of my foul language use is that I actually have a list of '_Forbidden Words'_; I've even gone as far as to print my list out and distribute it to friends and such. Most of the words are slang terms used to describe the female and male genitals and a of course a few miscellaneous terms of my own choosing…

GOD DAMMIT!

Again, I am terribly sorry for my ADD-disorder like behavior, but I WILL finish my background history.

Bella Sawn, age 23, one of the youngest physical therapists and self-proclaimed prude.

I've been home-schooled since the 2nd semester of my freshman year at FHS, which is why I technically finished my high school career when I was 16—when you're home schooled, it is possible for one to move at a desired pace, hence why I was able to graduate early and enter college at age 16 ½ , gradate and continue on to graduate school at 19 and finish at 22 while starting work at the Olympic Physical Therapy Center in Seattle at 23 (staying close to Forks was essential—who else would visit Charlie on the weekends and do his laundry).

Well, that's the basic synopsis of my life and such, nothing too interesting.

Oh fudge-muffin!

It's almost 12:30 and I have a new patient coming in today… From his charts it appears that he has some rather extensive injuries… But is "uncooperative, _refuses explain how such injuries were obtained_"?

…Oh. And he's admitted involuntarily.

Superb. Male, _and_ resistant.

His name is… Edward Cullen.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward Cullen… Humm. It has a nice ring to it. Rolls off the tongue.

My mind reverts back to my book collection at home, where many of my novels hold the name _Edward_, him being the handsome love interest and such.

…12:25… I can't help but to keep glancing at the clock hanging from the wall and banging my black and white puma's against the wooden legs of the cushioned examination table.

The hands are ef'ing patronizing me—they're practically hissing and twirling their little greased mustaches!

_Never Bella! We'll NEVER TURN!_

…_See Bella_, I berate myself, _this is what happens when you aren't social. Inanimate objects communicate with you_.

I can't help that I'm anxious for my 12:30 appointment; not only does he have more than one extensive injury, but he's being placed in my treatment program by an official order… It doesn't help that I'm not aware as to why. Doesn't he want to regain his body's full usage?

Sighing heavily, I shove myself off the table, anxious to get away from the hands. I walk towards the door that leads out to the waiting area and the file rooms, as well as the rest of the facility. As I make my way down the hall, I stop by the filing room and glance up again at the closest clock.

_12:27_?! You've _got_ to be shitting me. Two stupid minutes. Well, at least I have time to mosey and see if I can get a more extensive look into Cullen's file.

"Hey Heidi?" I call to an…acquaintance of mine, and the file keeper. She's… nice enough, but in my opinion she spends _far_ too much time speaking on her cell phone to her girlfriends about her latest sexual escapades and how much she detests her job. But that's the norm, isn't it?

I digress.

"Yeah Bella?" Heidi finally replies after picking at her blood-red nails.

"Can you please grab a file for me? Cullen comma Edward," I answer back apprehensively. I already have his basic file with all of the forms filled out by whom appear to be his relatives, but I want to take a look at the hospital's medical records and police report; something about his _forced entry _was grating me, although we've had patients here before with the same situation, but it's a rarity.

"Yeah fine," Heidi responds to her cuticles, while simultaneously removing herself from the swiveling chair and skimming the files. After she finds his file and unceremoniously drops it in my waiting hands, I scamper back to my private sanctuary, i.e. my examination room. I requested a room containing one of the large windows that outlooks the Elliot bay—the scenic view not only calms me, but seemingly my patients. I'd also added earthy touches of my own around the room: earth friendly moss-green paint on the walls, small plants on the counters, sandalwood candles, an organically made pillow with flax seeds embedded inside—embroidered with the words 'I love my physical therapist' no less—and pictures of my family.

After settling on the table, I push a few strands of fallen hair behind my ears and open the file.

_Full Name,_ I read. _Edward Anth_—

Suddenly the door shakes with someone's fist.

"Open the fucking door already, god _fucking_ dammit," a man practically growls.

Who the _hell_ is cursing like that? Everyone on the building knows I'm sensitive about that type on language, hence why it's rarely used around me!

"Ummm, I'm sorry?" I ask as I leap hesitantly from the table and towards the door.

The man on the outside heaves an exasperated sigh.

_If he tries to assault you Bella, you can always shriek; someone _will _hear you._

With the door's unlocking _click_ and a crack of the door, my forehead and eyes are only visible.

I examine the creature before me.

…

…

…

Oh my god. Jesus Christ_._

An invisible force instantly squeezes my heart.

Breathing is not possible, although I'm trying.

He is… spectacular. His undeniable beauty is… astonishing.

With a thud, my poor heart begins fluttering, racing a million miles an hour.

He is the type trashy romance authors write about, the type people _kill_ to look like. He's… he's incredible.

I mean, just… Jesus Christ.

…

_Oh fuck me. Fucking fuck_!

I despise myself when I focus on the opposite sex's physical features; I have _always_ told myself that looks are truly not a matter of important when selecting a companion for myself, if I ever were to… Not that that seems plausible anytime soon. And not that I've had many chances to focus on, you know, _features of the opposite sex_, what with my lack of participation in dating and… well _that_. But it's also that I've never really—

Sighing inwardly, I wrestle with my thoughts.

… The best way to describe it, is that I don't really _see_ people in general… I suppose you could say that I'm incredibly introspective; I have never had excellent people skills, so… so I've just let most of the outside world become a nebulous-like place. I'm perfectly complacent like this. And secretly, I have yet to truly meet someone I deem worth of my time, someone who is intellectually compatible to me, someone who can keep up with me.

… _I don't know. Maybe I'm arrogant. Are these arrogant thoughts? But if—but if I'm thinking_ are these arrogant thoughts, _then does that negate the possible arrogance_?

…_But I'm— I'm actually _seeing_ this man_. I can feel myself glowing internally. I _see_ him.

He's disarming.

…

Oh shit.

He stares at me with an incredulous glare. "What the hell, are you _doing_?" he all but growls.

"Uh," I stutter.

"Never mind, I really don't give a fuck. Just open the damn door for Christ's sake," he replies just as roughly.

His words are like a bucket of ice water, washing the haze away in an instant. I'm sure I look ridiculous as I sputter, blinking rapidly, forming half words and opening the door fully. He's on a crutch, and has a brace on his calf.

It's just like… _shit_… What?

"Are you Ed-," I try to choke out before he gives me an exasperated glower.

"What do you _think?"_

"I'm sorry—I didn't know you had arrived! The receptionist always alerts me when a patient has arrived!"

"It would appear not _always_," he grumbles.

I'm silent as I fumble for what to say next—even though every time he swears I want to wince—, feeling ill about keeping a patient waiting. I always strive to make every journey through physical therapy as comfortable as possible, despite his attitude.

"Are you gunna let me in or not? It's not like I haven't been waiting since twelve fucking ten or anything."

Nodding feverishly, I back up to hold the door for him as wide as it will go.

He shuffles inside the room and places his crutch against the table, hoists himself up and sits down on the padded cover, wincing as he does.

My breath hitches and my hands shake.

Burning emeralds stare back.

A fascinating bronze hue to his wild hair—it appears to look like what I've heard Heidi describe as 'sex hair'… It looks smooth yet textured, soft…

Perfectly pale skin in contrast to deep pink lips.

A strong jaw line, and a nose to match.

… His eyes frighten me.

"Ehem," he coughs, likely annoyed with my motionless form. And creepish gaze.

_Lovely_.

"Umm, hello," I muster, gathering myself. _Edward is here for his initial evaluation. And he's clearly vexed with me already so_…

He says nothing.

"I'm Bella, and I've been assigned to do your initial evaluation today." He still says nothing.

I smile at him, hoping to ease his anger.

"So I see that you have several injuries, which include two broken ribs, torn right calf muscle—and you've had surgery done, due to the complete tearing of muscle fibers from the Achilles tendon— and a Herniated disk in your neck…" _Wait, these injuries are usually associated with… My god, what the hell happened? _Clearing my throat, I continue."Well fudge muffin, that's a bit serious don't you think?" I ask him directly, a lame attempt to see if he'll admit what I'm dying to know by this point.

Edward gives me a look.

"Did you _really_ just say _fudge_ muffin?" he asks sardonically.

"Yes?"

Leaning in, he says, "Just say _fuck,"_ almost taunting.

I visibly wince this time. "I don't really enjoy swearing," I reply, wanting to dismiss the topic before this turns into a full conversation.

He smirks and adds, "Well fuck, because I truly enjoy saying shit like that."

Chagrin colors my face and name, I'm sure. _Really_? He's _taunting_ me?

"Okay well I _don't, _so let's drop it and get back to what you're here for."

You know, I pride myself on keeping composure with patients—but this _asshole_ just—I mean he just trolls in here and suddenly I'm—_no_, suddenly I'm _nothing_. I, am fine. You see? Perfectly professional, and _fine_.

"What _am_ I here for again _Bella_?"

"You," _deep breath Bella_, "are here to receive the medical attention you need, so let's please just get on with your evaluation Edward."

His name feels odd as it rolls… foreign, unfamiliar.

He's mute once more, and I—ever the lucky girl— am on the receiving end of an indignant glare.

Wow. _What a mockery of the word_. He's so malevolent, malicious.

"Fine," he finally jeers, as if _fine_ were an expletive.

It's my turn to glare.

Edward never wavers… and this is clearly going nowhere.

After an eternity passes, I alleviate the muscles in my face and cease the glare.

Rubbing my now tired eyes, I release a breath. "Mr. Cullen, I apologize for starting off on the wrong foot with you. I shouldn't have raised my voice and if you so wish to curse, I can't stop you. I also apologize for your long wait in the offices; I believe that it's my obligation to make certain that all my patients are—"

"Okay enough, please," he mutters, holding up a hand.

I'm sure my expression conveys irate disbelief. "Do you not understand that I'm just trying to—"

"_Yes_, I understand, I'm not incompetent. I meant enough the fucking shpeel."

He looks down at his hands, still seeming angry. He looks up then, squinting his eyes in a scrutinizing way.

It makes me uncomfortable.

"How old are you?" he inquires.

"I'm 23."

"Really? How the fuck can you be a physical therapist at 23?"

Unable to halt the wince, I continue and inform him of my educational years.

"Wow, you're pretty smart then, correct?"

"Um, I suppose," I mumble, shrugging my shoulders, averting my eyes.

"And tell me, have you worked here for long?"

"Well I'm not sure what you consider to be _long_, but I'm comfortable here, yes."

"And you've seen my files."

I nod. _Where is this going?_

"So you're intelligent, you've worked here for an ample amount of time—we'll just assume that you're friendly with your colleagues—, and you know that I have _no_ desire to be here on my own?"

"Mr. Cullen I—"

"You're a human being Bella, and you seem to be compassionate, empathetic, and all that crap, right?" he tries again.

_What?_

"Bella," he starts, penetrating his gaze with mine. "Do us both a favor—because you and I both know this isn't gunna work out—, and pull some strings. Say we're incompatible as doctor and patient, or what-the-fuck-ever, I don't even care. Just talk to somebody, and let's end this. _Just get me out of here_."

…

I'm stunned. The ambivalent look in his eyes is so utterly confusing; he looks livid and anxious and frustrated and…hurt.

He looks the way I feel.

…_We're incompatible_…

Clearing my throat, I speak. "I think you and I both know that's not an option Edward."

His jaw tightens noticeable.

"So, how did you obtain your injuries?" I try again.

He cocks his head to the left and raises an eyebrow.

Out of frustration, I can't help but sigh again. "Edward, in order for me to properly help you heal, it's essential that I learn all that I can," I say, pleading.

He remains tacit.

…I can see this is getting me nowhere.

"It should say in your file that I was found in a car smashed into the side of building. In an alley," he utters.

"_Really?"_ I gasp, suddenly engaged.

He smirks then, shrugging like a prick.

I am _this_ close to imploding. Really I am. And just then, for split-second, I consider his offer: _just end this_.

…

…

_No_.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I remind myself of what I am: a professional.

"Ok then," I breathe. "Going off of what the charts say about the diagnosis of your injuries, and the date of the surgery involving your torn calf, I'm going to run a few series of physical tests on your body to see where you are in terms of recovery. And so I can begin designing your program," I explain, reverting back to my _official-professional tone_. "After we finish this evaluation, I should be able to provide treatment that includes manual skills and exercises to address your specific dysfunction. And again, just so you know I _am_ creating this exercise program for you to do independently."

"Independent my ass, " he mumbles to himself. Whether or not I was meant to hear that, I'm not sure…

"Well, don't you want to recover?" I implore.

His head jerks up, looking me directly in the eyes. "Who _wouldn't_?" he asks me contemptuously.

"Take off your shirt."

He gives me a lascivious grin. "Now do you seduce _all _ofyour patients _Bella?_"

"What?! No! No no, I just— I need you to remove that article of clothing so that I can examine you," I say fervidly. He just grins. I'm getting awfully tired of all of his derisive-like expressions. Without a word, he lifts his grey v-neck from his torso and up above his head, wincing as his does, and places it on his torn jean covered lap.

I have to stifle a rather loud exhale when I take in his body.

_So beautiful_, my subconscious whispers. His broad shoulders lead to defined arms, which hang by his toned torso.

_His skin is flawless_…

I'm lost in my thoughts.

Until he coughs.

"Sorry," I squeak. "I was trying to remember the name of muscle." _Get a fucking _grip_ Bella. _ "So, I'm going to try a few massage-like techniques on your neck and trapeziums, " I inform him as I walk around my table to his backside.

He nods.

I reach out to touch him.

And then we make contact.

Have you ever read romantic literature about a man and a woman, and when they touch it's like a buzzing, or perhaps a zinging?

This is like that, but somehow more definite. The… the _fire_ I feel beneath my palms, and its spread through my wrists simultaneously steadies and awes me.

Edward's body jerks slightly and shifts.

"Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?"

Clearing his throat, he answers. "Uh, I don't really… know. Maybe just ease up…"

As I begin to massage his shoulders, and then continue to place my hand on the right side of his head, I gently push it to the left side, into my other waiting palm. He hums in what appears to be pleasure; I expect this—I'm alleviating the pain that he must have receive from the Herniated disk.

As his humming continues, so did the burning in my hands, as it licks higher and higher. It's almost uncomfortable, really…

_Shitshitshitshit_.

"Damn," he mutters softly. Damn what? Damn good, or damn bad?

I need to stop touching him before I begin to hyperventilate.

"Uhh—this should… _relieve_ the pain in your—" I try to force out. "Uhhh—" I stutter, my voice raises an octave.

The clock beckons me for my attention.

"Oh look, that's all the time we have for today Edward, we'verunpastourtimeandyouHAVEtogobutwe'llcontinuet hisnextweeksametime."

I can't breath.

Edward just looks at me as if I've donned a third leg. "Fine," he mutters while placing his shirt on again. And wincing. Hobbling off the table, he grabs his crutch and storms out the door without so much as a glare.

"_Fuck_!" I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut.

Lying down on the cushioned table, panting and gasping for air with my heart beating rapidly, my lower body twists and squirms.

For I could feel a—feel a… a pulse.

I could feel a pulse in my vagina.

_For the first time_.


	3. Chapter 3

_Pulse. Pulse. Throb. Throbity-throb. Pulse._

Yes. My vagina continues to tingle and take on a life of its own.

And I've tried to calm my breathing down enough to the point where I can sit up and glare down at the monstrosity that is my lady land.

"I swear to_ god,_" I hiss, "if you do not cease… _that_—," I can't finish. I'm actually attempting to give my lady garden a 'firm talking to'.

…

_Cough_.

Well. _Fuck_.

After I finally manage to _actually_ calm my body down and bring myself upright, I hop off the table and mosey over to the mini fridge under the sink counter to retrieve Vitamin Water. After struggling with the cap for a good 45 seconds and placing it in between my thighs for better leverage, I lean against the counter and take a sip.

_Mmmhmm, oh so very good_. Looking down at the bottle, I glance at the title—XXX. I call it porn water.

_How ironic_. I can't even look at the nude photos of woman's breasts that occasionally pop up on my computer, yet I knowingly call this favorite beverage of mine _porn water._

With an exasperated chuckle, something black and shiny catches my eye.

_His jacket_!

Springing from the counter and plopping the water down, my feet hit the ground with a thud as I lunge for the leather while simultaneously grabbing the doorknob and thrusting myself down the hall to the waiting room; hopefully Jessica, the head receptionist, will be able to give him his jacket when he most likely returns to retrieve it.

As I scuttle down the hallway and to the left where Jessica is seated at her desk—while watching a trashy reality show might I add— I'm stopped short.

He's still here. He's still in the building, standing in the middle of the waiting room, with four other people surrounding him.

There's a tall, dazzling blonde—who's face reminds me of a goddess—a tall, beefy looking man with dark curls, another man whose stature is lean but with blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and another woman with strawberry blonde hair, whose face could have easily passed for a Victoria's Secret model's… or something of _that_ nature.

They're all speaking loudly to one another or to Edward (I can't tell), while simultaneously touching and patting him. The angel blonde hooks her arm around beef man's waist and whispers something into his ear, causing him to bellow out a laugh while the sun-kissed man rolls his eyes. Edward mimics the same reactions at the scene beside him and the strawberry woman begins to stoke her hands through his hair, but this only seems to… _irritate_ him further.

_Wow. Not even an attractive, conventional woman can placate him, _I giggle to myself.

Edward whips his head up from Strawberries to stare into my own.

_Oh sonofamotherfuckingzebrasuckingdickheadedlesbian. You turd._

It's only then that the rest of his entourage follows his line of sight to find me standing in the doorway, giggling like the buffoon I am.

"What the hell," the angel demands.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

"Bella what are you _doing?"_ Jessica asks me, as if I were mentally incompetent. Jessica believes that I'm suffering from an impending disorder, but refuse to acknowledge it. Or something of that nature.

"I, um" I shake my head back and forth, as if the motion will help me re-kindle my purpose for standing here. "Jacket. I have a jacket of leather. Uhh, your jacket. Edward," I finish. Oh look, I'm wearing pumas.

The blonde man walks towards me with an apprehensive smile and takes the jacket from my clutch, as if it were a bomb ready to detonate.

As he strides back to the group—of whom were all still staring at me with amused eyes—, Strawberry narrows hers. "Who are you?"

"That's the chick I was telling you about Tan, Bella," Edward murmurs to her and the rest of his posse.

"Oh, so you're the person who's gunna like, fix E again?"

"Fix?" I reply. Therapy sound never be referred to as "fixing someone'; humans are not _things_ that become scratched and have pieces broken off, or _parts that don't work right_, that can be taken back to a store and replaced. I find _fix_ to be very…insensitive.

"Yeah like, you know what'll make him better or something like that."

"Ah careful Tanya, Bella here doesn't like _bad words_," Edward announces.

"No shit? Really?" _Tanya_ apparently asks, seeming mesmerized by this fact.

I nod my head, aware of the fact that if I utter a single word I most _likely _will be fired. And I love my job.

"So if I say a word like, fuck or something you'll flinch or whatever?" she asks while giggling.

I indeed flinch when she drops the f-bomb. This only makes her cackle louder.

"God damn Edward, make your bitch shut the fuck up,_"_ Beef-Man states.

"Tan, you really gotta stop. You're even pissing _me_ off." Tanya's chortles cease to a point where she attempts to hide it under her dark brown manicure.

"Bella did you want something else?" Jessica questions again.

"Just the uh, jacket. It's my duty to see that all personnel items are returned to its owner," I prattle out, quoting the manual.

Edward squints at me with a look in his eyes. I can't be sure _what_ though—it's a mix of pity and humor….

Meh.

"Okay, well your next appointment is confirmed for this Monday," Jessica reads off, "and please make sure you bring comfortable clothes that you can move in," she trills, grinning at him, emphasizing the word _move._

Edward nods, seeming unaffected by Jessica's innuendo. He begins to hobble out the door with his crew following suit, pausing at the doorframe where Beef-Man is holding it ajar to mumble what I think is a '_leave the fucking door alone, I can do it my fucking self_', and shoving himself awkwardly through the structure; poor Beef-Man stands looking… tired. Or tired of something, or… something. I can't quite decipher their relationship.

After the group finally leaves, my fatigued body slumps against the front counter, and my elbows rest behind me. I let my head drop forward and roll my neck side-to-side, an exercise I was taught to relieve stress.

Heidi gets up from where she's apparently been watching the whole production, and begins to confer with Jessica.

Such dedicated workers, these two are.

"Hot _e'fing_ damn. I haven't seen anyone that can get me wet _that fast_ in like—frickin' forever," Heidi gasps.

"Do you have any idea how fast I would have shoved my tits all up in his face if he wasn't already taken?"

Taken? He was in a monogamous relationship? Oh—_Tanya_.

"Ugh, stupid bitch was practically humping him in the room, _through his jeans,_ when I came back from my break," Heidi agrees.

Wow. Okay, well, I really shouldn't be surprised. He's gorgeous so, I should not be surprised that Strawberry… Well okay then.

Okay then.

"Oh Bella!" Jessica calls for me. "What did _you_ thinking of Edward. Wasn't he just _cum worthy?_ Wasn't he just_ fuckable?_ Wasn't. He. Just. Clit rubbing-pussy-wetting-cock-licking-delicious?"

She's unequivocally goading me, and she _knows_ how truly toe-curling uncomfortable this is causes me to become. She's using words that she knows are specifically on my '_Forbidden Words'_ list, and Heidi sits attempting to contain her grin.

_Professional, Bella. You are a professional._

"I'm going to have to disagree with you Jessica," I attempt to reply as civilly as possible. The girl's giggling increases. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

_You're being professional Bella. Nothing wrong with that. Yeah, professional. Look at you go!_

Turning from the desk, I push the door open to lope back to my haven, looking forward to the clean up and a possible impending return home.

Per usual, there a few things needing to be placed back in their order, papers that need recycling, surfaces to disinfect; as I bend down to wipe off the table, I notice a silver item lying under it. Reaching down to find what looks like a necklace, a single paw print charm catches my attention, the letter J engraved on one side. I place it in my back pocket as not to forget to bring it to the front, in case its' owner comes back for it.

My proceedings are interrupted by a knock on the door and a friendly face popping in.

"Hey Bella, I'm pretty sure the Cullen guy was your last one today so you can totally head home if you want," Gianna, another therapist in my department, informs me. I'm grateful for her presence here—although we aren't friends, she's always kind to me as we both share a mutual dislike Jessica and Heidi's whorish ways.

I smile back at her. "Oh cool, thanks Gi."

_No, thank Jesus above!_

After placing the cleaner and cloth away, I grab my messenger bag and coat, sign out for the day, and proceed out the back door to the parking garage. The first tinges of relief begin settle in as I hop into the front of my black mini cooper, pressing play on my iPod.

Eight lazy minutes later, I'm finally up the six floors and plunging the key into my apartment door, flinging it back; the thud's a comforting sound, reinforcing the fact that I'm _home_. Unraveling and undressing myself, I grab a bag of blue corn chips and plop myself down on the couch, reaching for the remote and begin to progress through the endless channels of trash television.

I stop when I discover _TNT_ is showing _When Harry Met Sally_; Alice's is always hounding me to watch this, claiming it's a favorite of hers.

Yawning, I smile as Sally tells Harry 'she likes it how she likes it'…

…

…

_How do you know?_

_What do you mean how do I know? I know._

_Because they..._

_Yes, because they..._

_And how do you know that they really..._

_What are you saying, that they fake orgasm?_

_It's possible._

_Get outta here!_

_Why? Most women at one time or another have faked it._

_Well they haven't faked it with me._

_How do you know?_

_Because I know._

_Oh, right, that's right, I forgot, you're a man._

_What is that supposed to mean?_

_Nothing. It's just that all men are sure it's never happened to them and that most women at one time or another have done it so you do the math._

_You don't think that I could tell the difference? _

_No._

_Get outta here._

_Ooo...Oh...Ooo..._

_Are you OK?_

_Oh...Oh god...Ooo Oh God...Oh...Oh...Oh...Oh God...Oh yeah right there. Oh! Oh...Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes...Oh...Oh...Yes Yes Yes... Oh...Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes...Oh...Oh... Oh... Oh God Oh... Oh... Huh..._

I press the off button on the television before the scene can finish.

"Ugh, _why_," I moan into my hands. Fucking _Alice_.

…

…

I don't understand the concept of orgasms; I know women and men alike enjoy them intensely, or at least they're supposed to. I myself have never had one, nor do I want one or intend to have one…

But _STILL!_ I cannot comprehend the supposedly innate desire to obtain such pleasures. I've only ever let myself try once, and that had… not gone well.

And besides, I believe masturbation and intercourse are designed for people who _need_ that release, who indeed have those feelings of—of _that_. I shouldn't need to take part in such actions if I have no internal implications…

But then I—I once read in college, that feelings of needed release can be triggered through self-simulated pleasure.

…

Do I want these special feelings? No.

I mean—no, I don't want them.

Even if I—no!

…

Yes. Maybe yes. Not a large portion of yes, but yes. A little.

_A little, yes._

Maybe I could…

Oh… _fuck me_.

Before I can consider my actions, I leap up from the couch and steal away to the kitchen, place the chips back in their cupboard, and wash my hands furiously in the sink. Shuffling back to the couch, I place myself into the nook my butt has created.

With three deep breaths and a furious mental plea with my brain to disengage all logical functions, I allow myself to lean back onto the seat and close my eyes.

Lifting my green t-shirt up to my ribs, I remove my right hand from its position on my thigh and guide it up to the waistband of my jeans where it promptly unzips them. After the zipper is down, I continue my hand's southward journey until I'm inside my underwear and approaching the danger zone.

As I move closer to the lips, I feel my breathing hitch.

When I finally make contact with my outer labia, I apply gentle pressure downward… Nothing. Shifting my hips downward as well, I'm—_it's_, spread wider, casing an opening to appear. My breathing hitches again. After applying pressure once more, I decide to go further by allowing my index finger to glide up and down my inner areas…

Hesitantly, I swipe over my clitoris, but having no such luck. _Aren't I supposed to feel some sort of you know_, feeling_, or something when I make contact?_

… _Guess not._

Giving up hope on clitoral stimulation, my fingers move down to the… opening. I let them rest there… gauging.

I have no fucking idea what I'm doing.

_Stupid, st_upid.

After taking one final deep breath and squeezing my eyes shut, I insert my index finger and shift in and out once.

"Okay no, no, no!" My eyes snap open, I quickly extract _the hand_ from _the lady chambers_, and squirm and gasp frantically up from the couch.

_OHmyfuckinggod—ew, ew, ewewew, I can't fucking DO this!_

My cell phone rings.

I reach for it with my _non-contaminated _hand, and check the caller ID.

"ALICE! I cannot fucking masturbate! My lady land doesn't want me to!"

"Ahh, so I see you tried again?"


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously:_

"_ALICE! I cannot fucking masturbate! My lady land doesn't want me to!"_

"_Ahh, so I see you tried again?"_

_-LMHYBT-_

She's laughing at me. She's _giggling_, at a time like this.

"Alice Mary Brandon, in what way, shape or form is this comical?!"

"Well aside from that fact that you're 23, have never had sex, nor have you ever gotten yourself off, and that you're a physical therapist, I'd say that you answering my call with a charming greeting such as 'Alice I cannot fucking masturbate my lady land doesn't want me to,' is pretty damn comical," she throws back.

"Well you know I'm just a _tad_ disgusted with my behavior right now so… well just _so_ Alice… Ugh, I don't even know how I ever processed this as being a good decision! I'm already aware of the fact that I can't do things like this yet I just attempted to. UGH! And now I'm perturbed with myself and I just, my god, I _knew_ I should have yet I _still_—,"

"BELLA! First off all, you can do whatever your little heart desires, whether that be to masturbate every hour or to stay a virgin your entire existence. No one is in control but you. Second of all, calm yourself. There is absolutely no use in you freaking out over something that's done and finished. Now, here's what we're gunna do; I'm downtown right now and you're going to meet me up at _Le Panier_, okay?"

"_Ehh_."

"_Bella!_ I mean it dammit, you're meeting me here in 15 minutes," she demands.

"Jesus! Yes fine! I'll be in attendance at your suggested time," I grumble.

"I'm glad to hear that," Alice chirps in response, her grin audible from the other end. "See you soon."

"Regrettably," I mutter as she hangs up…

I really shouldn't be so pessimistic when it comes to my only valid friend, Alice. She puts up with my prudish nature and is the only person I've ever known to ask me _why_? _Why_ am I like this? _Why_? _Do I want a friend to be there? Do I _need _someone to understand me…_

She accepts me. And she loves me… most of the time.

And god knows I would be lost in the world of my mind if she wasn't there to occasionally tow me from the deepest nadir that is myself.

Heaving my sluggish self from the spot on the couch, I spastically wash my hand (twice), and change, reveling in the feel of free clothes; clothing untainted by this day, and all the bullshit that's come along with it.

The clock on the stove tells me that almost 10 minutes have passed by, and soon my keys are in hand, coat is slung over my arm, and necessities in my pockets.

I'm gone.

-LMHYBT-

"Yeah, can I get a… a tarte aux abricots, and a small espresso with crème fouettée, sil vous plait?" Alice orders once we've both arrived—I being 5 minutes late, a trait I've taken from my father, and Alice being 5 minutes early, a trait she just, well, had— and finds a small table in the corner of the French café.

"Pour vous mademoiselle?"

"Uhh, can I just get an almond croissant please?" I ask the man timidly. Outside of work, I dislike formal social situations.

I can function when needed, but I'm always afraid of saying something incorrectly or making a fool out of myself. I don't want people I don't know to have to deal with my discomfited manner, if you will. I have no desire to place other people in an inconvenient situation, and god forbid they become angry with me; I always shut down, or appear to have a malfunction when that happens.

"Oui mademoiselle."

"Great thanks."

Alice leads me back to our table and motions for me to take off my coat and retire to the awaiting chair.

"Bells where's your purse?"

"You know I don't ever carry one—I just put my wallet and cell and stuff in my pockets," I reply while motioning to the coat in my lap.

"Bella. Come on. You are a grown woman, I think it's time to invest in a fucking purse for Christ's sake."

"Alice!" I scold her for using such crude language.

"Oh calm your tits Bells, I'm merely telling you what you must hear," Alice attempts to pacify me.

"AL-_LICE_!" I sputter further. Now she's using words on my _forbidden list_. She looks at me with perplexed eyes, I'm assuming trying to understand what has—

"Oh! Crap Bells, I'm sorry," she all but chortles, apologizing simultaneously. "I forgot. I used a _no no_ word. Oh wait I'm sorry, a _forbidden_ word."

"Yeah Alice, you did. Come on you know I _loathe_ that word with a passion…" I sulk.

"But, you do realize that you're the biggest hypocrite."

Sighing deeply, I answer. "_Yes_ Alice, I know that I swear, but it's just different when I do it, compared to when I have to listen to it… And I'm trying to stop."

"Oh are you now."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I _am._"

"Uhuh… Hey, what are the other ones again?" she asks, although already having these memorized.

"Honestly? You're asking me to name them?" I reply, cocking an eyebrow. _No, no, Alice, this isn't funny. _

She quirks an eyebrow. "Fine. _I'll_ name them," she giggles. "Alright let's see… Bella's Forbidden Word's List… Oh! Okay ummm, cock, cunt, clit, cum, pussy, nigger, tits, fuck… And, umm. And umm?" She looks at me with questioning eyes.

"You forgot the other n-word," I whisper. This one I truly find to be… irksome.

"Oh! Nipple! Duh!"

I flinch.

…Yes, remember what I said? _Living, breathing, __irony__._

"Sorry Bells. You know I love you with all my heart."

"I'm aware Alice." I love the girl too. God only knows how she deals with me.

"Salut Mesdames; vos aliments is ready." The waiter places our sustenance on the table and leaves just as easily as he came. As Alice bites into her pastry and I nibble at my croissant, she looks up at me while licking the almond cream off her lower lip.

"So, I'm assuming you're bewildered as to why I asked you to meet me."

"Just a tad….. _Yes_, Alice?"

"Bella, you are… you are so amazing. I honestly believe that. That's not just me saying that because you're my best friend and I'm biased. You are so attractive, and comical and unique and witty, and if you don't mind me saying, one of the most interesting people I know. You're also passionate, and loving and endearing. And when you—" she pauses for a moment, "When you called me this morning and started freaking out because you couldn't _do_ something, like you weren't allowed to or whatever, _that's_ why I was livid with your behavior. Because I _know_ and can _see_ who you are—I know what you're capable of."

I look down at my napkin. Then back to Alice.

I'm not sure I agree with her but, "Thank you, Alice. I really mean—" I'm cut off by a vociferous, distinctly male laugh.

_What the hell?_

Turning my head to the left and around, I see what creature has spouted such a clamor.

"Jesus Christ dad you should have seen him fall on his ass!"

_Holy mother of ef'ing God._

It's that guy. _That_ guy, the tall beefy one in the office today with Edward… and the blonde angel is with him as well. And there's a new blonde man I don't recognize, but he resembles someone I've met before… it's on the tip of my _freakin'_ tongue…

"Emmett you know that's not funny," the older blonde man replies, sober, reservedly.

"Carlisle of course it's funny; if Edward's going to be a dick about this whole situation and not only refuse help, but deny us an explanation then Emmett and I should be able to laugh all the fuck we want!" B.A. interjects.

"Rose, please. We're in public," he rebukes.

"It's not my fault Emmett has to eat every 30 seconds."

"Yeah, but babe we all know why I burn it off so _quickly_…" Emmett—apparently—responds, with almost the same caliber as his booming laughter.

The blonde named Rose reciprocates with a 'shut up Em' while giggling like a school girl and punching him in the chest, then tall n' beefy catches her wrists and begins to kiss each of her fingers. I have to look away—it feels too private almost… Thankfully, at that moment Alice drops a dollop of cream on her navy wrap skirt and with an 'oh balls!' she excuses herself to the ladies room; I can listen without seeming like a creeper and won't be caught eavesdropping in on the Adam's Family: _Supermodel Edition_.

"So how did the appointment go after all?" the older man, Carlisle enquires.

"Dick-ward wouldn't tell us much. He just said that he, and I quote, 'doesn't want fuckin' go and he shouldn't have to fuckin' go because it's his fuckin' life and he fuckin' hates us all for getting the government involved'."

"That well."

"Yup. Oh and he mentioned something about the chick who he's been assigned to or some crap like that. We met her today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's… odd and… I don't know. I don't really like her too much. She seems like one of those girls who stays home reading Beverly Clearly novels and trashy romances while getting off and then watching re-runs of _Golden Girls_ while training their cat named Sir George Tinkles," Rose comments.

_Oh how very wrong you are, you cock sucking Barbie._

"Hah, I remember she got all flustered after Tanya started cursing like the retard she is! Poor chick," Mcbeefy adds.

"I'm glad you two are so benevolent."

The pair laughs harder.

"So you said Edward mentioned something about this Bella woman, correct? Well what did he say?" Carlisle asks with a tired voice, seeming to want to move the conversation elsewhere.

"He mentioned something like, 'god I've had enough shit today from this flimsy bitch therapist, who's done nothing but piss me the fuck off, no thanks to you all, so leave me the fuck alone, yada-yada-yada, my cock is too small, yada-yada-yada, I have three STD's that I got from a Norwegian stripper, yada-yada-yada' and so on."

…

…

…

_Fuck… _Fuck.

I am not a crier.

I'm not.

But that—but I mean that—

I don't know.

I don't know what this is.

My eyes burn, my throat hurts, I'm shaking…

I'm hurt.

And angry.

Angry. Yes, I'm angry.

I'm angry because this beautiful man evokes these emotions from me, and I don't _know_ him and he doesn't know me. And from what I'm aware of, he's mean! He's a mean man!

NO!

He isn't a _mean man,_ he, is an asshole!

HE IS A FUCKING DICK!

How _dare_ he say these things about me! He doesn't _know_ me and my life and who I am; I don't give a flying fuck if he's my patient, he's an ass! And I hope the pain he feels becomes progressively FUCKING worse!

_My God!_

_How—_

"Bella?"

"WHAT Alice!"

…

Oh shit.

Oh god fuckmesonofabitchfuckmeinthefuck.

"Oh I'm sorry Alice, I didn't mean to snap at you!"

"No, Bella… it's fine, but I just wanted to ask you what was up? I come out of the bathroom to find you practically fuming with rage, muttering '_how dare he, how dare he_' and puffy eyes. Here are some tissues by the way."

"I—I stubbed my toe. On the chair. Some jerk-off, he pulled it out into the middle of the aisle so… ha ha, _how dare he place the darn chair there!_ Ha, jerk," I ramble, waving off the Kleenex.

"You're full of shit. Tell me immediately or I swear to god I _will_ go up to the barista and tell him you want to have his babies in French…. _Yes_ Bella, I _really will do it_.

I sigh before patting the seat across from me.

"Alice, there was a uhh—a reason _why_ I decided to, to do that again. With myself…"

"Okay fine…"

"I have this new patient that I met with today, and he is—he is very… angry. And rude. And mysterious. And _pretty_… and, I just... He irks me, and honestly I don't like it Alice… He makes me feel, like, I don't know. Not in—in control of myself."

"Okay?"

"And then for the first time today, after he left my room and we had just had kind of a heated conversation, I—I umm uhh…"

"_Yes,_ Bella?"

"I uhh, I had a Ihadaweirdfeelinginmyvaginakindoflikeapulseanditwa sweirdanditfreakedmeoutandIthinkbuti'mnotsurethatt hismightbewhatspurredthislittle'bella'momentofstup idityofmine," I sputter.

My best friend gasps raucously. "Isabella _Swan_!"

"Shut UP!"

"But _BELLA—"_

"_SHUT UP!"_

And then I'm tapped on the shoulder.

I turn around to find Emmett standing behind me with a grin the size of a cow's ass. And he has company.

Rose, Carlisle, _Tanya_, and—

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no, please god no.

"Well holy _fudge muffin_. Look who we have here."

I can't. Speak.

"Isa_Bella_, am I right?"

No.

"_Right?"_

Oh fucking _no_.

"C'mon Bella, you could speak just fine this morning.

"That's the 'flimsy bitch therapist', Carlisle," Rose whispers.

It's too bad that I hear her.

_Fuck__**. This**__._

Pushing up from the table, directly up into Edward's amused face, I let it go. "_You_, are a piece. Of shit. You are so, _low,_ on the shit scale, that not even a _fly_ would dare to consume you. _Fuck. Off, _Edward Cullen."

"_Excuse-fucking-me_?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Stop by on twitter and say hello, stalk for LMHYBT & B-roll update info, smexie pics, etc.**

** AT iluvtwilightmre**


	5. Chapter 5

_Previously:_

"_You, are a piece. Of shit. You, are so low, on the shit scale, that not even a fly would dare to consume you. Fuck. Off, Edward Cullen."_

"_Excuse-fucking-me?"_

-LMHYBT-

Oh god.

Oh _GOD_.

_Oh-fuc-freaking-GOD!_

_See Bella? Do you SEE? _This_ is why you do not speak! THIS IS WHY YOU DO NOT SWEAR, JESUS CHRIST!_

"I uh-I uhh I was only j—I uhh wasn't actually talking to y—I mean I was but not—uhh," I falter. Like the imbecile I undoubtedly am.

Edward is murderously glaring at me as if I've just informed him that I've slaughtered his entire family, and then recorded the whole event for my later viewing pleasures.

"Sir I am—I uhh am, so—What I am trying uhh, t-to express—" I stop as I watch his mouth open, but become befuddled as he closes his mouth into a hard line, shifts towards me on his crutch, and is suddenly within three inches of my face.

"Outside. The left alley. _Now_," he hisses through clenched teeth, his tone just _asking_ me to defy him.

I begin to anyways.

"I'm not sure you comprehend this , but you do not own me—"

"I swear to _fucking_ god, just get outside before you _really_ piss me off any further—with that little remark of yours? You better fuckin' believe you owe me an explanation," he growls low in my ear.

I suck in a sharp, yet low breath. I can feel my hands quivering and my heart rate accelerating. Looking down to avoid the eyes that send tremors stirring down my spine, I feel myself nod acutely.

"Follow me."

As I trail behind a surprisingly quick-on-crutches-Edward, I throw Alice a look that says _I need to do something and I'll be back in a few_, and he tells his family that he needs air.

After pushing the door aside and following for less than 45 seconds, we reach an alley on the side of the café with little sunlight, the café's roof obstructing it. He walks a few feet from me, stops abruptly to lean against one of the walls and lays his crutches accordingly.

Looking at me, he makes a '_come here_' motion with his pointer finger.

I merely gaze at him with a dubious expression—_come here_? Why would I _come here_?

"Just get the fuck over here already. Don't play games Isa_bella_," his voice frightening; his irate words a juxtaposition to his serene vocals entirely.

I do as he asks, although I don't know why. Moving forward to face him hesitantly, the palpability of his emotions is immediate: he's fuming.

And I'm frightened.

He shifts closer, and once again we are inches apart from each other's faces; he looks into my eyes and takes a breath while concurrently shifting his jaw around, as if he's trying to relieve tension.

"What the hell was that?"

_Even furious, he's beautiful._

Titling my head to the left, I peer at him with confusion.

"No no no, what the _hell_ was _that_. _That._ Don't you fucking dare look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about."

…I don't know what to say. What _can_ I say? _Sorry, I'm a bit of a psycho, don't mind me? Sorry, you're a fucking asshole?_

… When he's angry his eyes turn from a stark green to a piercing emerald.

"I start talking to you and you call me a piece of shit? What the hell did I ever do to _you_?"

_What _didn't_ you do to me! _"I uhh—I saw, I mean I heard umm—"

"Speak up _Bella_. Where's that assertive side I saw a few minutes ago? Talk like a person for Christ's sake," he says, rolling his eyes.

_You little bitch._

"Okay fine you fuck-head. I called you a piece of _shit_, because you deserved it. How _dare_ you call me a flimsy bitch 'who's done nothing but piss you off'," I quote with fingers in front of his arrogant face, " when all you've done is stroll around like a malicious little _prick_, while your family wants tofucking _help _you! _God_! _The horror_! I can't imagine what that's like! And further more, _I_ am trying to help you! I am—"

"_You_ do not know that first thing about me! _Nothing! _Not a fucking thing! So I don't really think that you, a _physical therapist_, are qualified to make such judgments," he voice drops suddenly, the pedestrians passing beginning to stop and stare.

"_Don't_, make assumptions about me and my life Ms. Swan," his deep tonality deadly.

"_Don't_ say cruel comments about me," I fire back, attempting to replicate the same voice.

I don't think it worked.

His eyes widen, and he backs away from me to lean against the brick. He snickers, progressively gaining volume until it evolves into a full-blown laugh.

"And you're chortling because?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"Because number one, I wouldn't call my comment _cruel_—I called you a bitch, that shouldn't be anything new to you," I opened my mouth in protest, " Okay fine, whatever. Maybe it's not. But number two, have I _really_ done anything to you? Really? I called you a bitch because you were pissing me off, and… what else?"

"You—you were _rude_. All day."

"And am I the first patient to be rude to you? _All day_?"

"…No…" Of course not.

"There you go."

"That doesn't make it right, Edward."

"Fine. I apologize for being an ass today."

He doesn't sound entirely sincere, but I accept anyways.

"Now what else? _Is_ there anything else?"

I don't have an answer for him.

"Is everything that I said seriously that fuckin' bad? Did it _shake you to your core_ that much."

I refuse to answer or look at him.

"That's what I thought."

"You are malevolent little bastard, I hope to god that you know that," I spit back. He really and truly is; it doesn't matter to me that he had _only_ called me a bitch, and was _only_ rude to me. It hurt, end of story.

"Oh Jesus Christ Bella. It's not that bad! Haven't you ever been called that when you're fucking, or something? You know, when you're on top or some shit and the guy's telling you to go faster or something?"

I not only feel, but _hear_ my jaw pop open; my eyes go wide.

"I-I umm, no! I have _not_ been asked that question in, umm, in bed while performing lascivious actions." I feel my voice grow more microscopic as I ramble on.

He could never know of my lack of, uh, lack of practice. In that department. Of such. God only knows what he and that whore-endous companion of his would say about me. Only Alice knows, and only Alice would ever know.

"Ahh, so I'm assuming your sex life's been pretty fuckin' dull, yeah?" he crosses his arms and leans his head back against the wall.

"I uhh—I am not at liberty to—to uhh," I'm stammering harder than before, and the burning behind my eyes is back.

_No no no no, we could __**not**__ discuss this._

"Jesus relax," he informs me, sounding vexed. "Goddamn, you are _so_ uptight about _everything_," he states, moving towards me again and stopping a few inches from my face.

"Well if you hadn't just inquired about my sexual activities then perhaps I would be in a more… tranquil, state." I shuffle a step back.

He gives me an ambiguous glance.

"It's just sex." He moves forward again.

"It is _not_ just intercourse! My god, it is—" I feel my face scrunch as I attempt to find a sufficient word that describes _the act._

"Je-_sus, _I bet you don't even like to fuck."

"Of _course _not I—" I stop suddenly.

Oh. Sa-hiiiiitttt.

I move back three steps this time.

"Wait, what? For real?"

"No. I, I was just—I just kidding. That was joke. See. I'm joking," I manage to spit out without crying like a lunatic.

"Oh. Okay. Okay yeah, cuz I was gunna say… Yeah, of course—you're like 23 or something, nobody your age is a virgin."

My heart pinches a little.

…

I know this.

Alice knows this.

But… I'm proud of myself; I don't have to worry about STD's—or STI's at work—and unwanted pregnancy and I don't have to deal with the things Alice used to worry about before she met her boyfriend Jasper, like one-night stands and 'risking emotional involvement' or something like that… Yeah. I'm good.

"Yeah," I agree, sounding more deflated than I'd planned.

He's silent, the curiosity evident in his eyes.

I refuse meet them.

"So, uhh, so are we finished here?" he asks, sounding cautious for some reason.

"If you'd like to be."

"I just have to get back to my family is all."

I nod and agree; Alice is waiting as well.

"The midget you're with?" I nod a second time.

"That's kinda funny; a buddy of mine is dating a short chick named Alice."

"Yeah? What's—"

"Uh Bella?" I hear said midget call my name from the start of the alley. "Bells I gotta get going so…"

"Oh, yes. Uh, goodbye Mr. Cullen. I'll see you in a few days for your next appointment." With one more nod, I turn around and head to Alice; I have no desire to continue speaking with him—those damn eyes… they sure know how to probe

… _Okay, what? What the fuck am I even _saying_?_

Jesus, I'm tired.

As I reach Alice and grab onto her outstretched ulna and radius, she begins towing me to her creamy silver Nissan Cube and instructs me to get into the passenger seat.

"Alice my car is two—"

"Bella get in the damn car."

"Fine fine fine!"

After I comply and Alice reverses, she goes.

"Bella whatthefu—hell?! Who was that guy? Why were you two talking? Why did you look like you were about to sob? I'll have Jazz punch him if he made you cry! Why were you two so damn _close_ to each other? Do I know him? Do _you_ even know him? Where did you meet him? Why is he so damn attractive?! Why aren't you answering me! Why are looking at me like that! Stop trying to drive for me! I'm a fu-awesome driver aren't I?! I saw that guy, don't you think I _saw_ the guy? No he didn't flip me off! Wait, did he flip me off?! I'll hit him with my fu-freakin' car! Who was that guy in the alley Bella!?"

I wait a moment, so she can regain all of her lost oxygen supply.

"Alice. Please bring your body back to a state of homeostasis, and _then_ I shall explain." She rolls her eyes but takes a deep breath as I do.

"His name is Edward Cullen, and he is just patient of mine at the clinic. We were speaking because of the earlier… words. That were spoken in the café, and we straightened things out and that's all."

"And?"

I sigh. "And no he didn't make me cry, I was just, being an imbecile or something and, I don't know Alice, it was a small alley."

"Bella, that alley is like twice the size of your examination room!"

…. It was?

"It was?"

"Yes! What, did you not notice with Adonis standing there?" Alice's tone turns teasing.

"Alice he does not look like Adonis, he's not even that attractive."

_Lie_.

_Lie Lie Lie Lei Laahh-ie_.

"That is such bullshit. If I wasn't already practically married to Jazz I would be licking the ground he walks on."

"Alice," I warn. I don't want to talk about him. Or how close he had been to me. And his warm breath on my face. And the heat radiating off his—

"Hey! I'm just preachin' the truth."

"Yeah okay." She looks like she wants me to say more; say more of what, I am not aware. "Speaking of Jasper, when am I going to have the pleasure of meeting him? I know you said he travels, but—"

"I know I know, soon I think. He has a nice chunk of time off soon." She sighs deeply. "Alright you. I actually do have to go—meeting with the financers. Sooo, I'll talk to you later?" I realize we're back in the café lot, near my car.

"Yeah. Talk to you later."

"I love you!"

"I love you too."

"Damn straight you do."

With a grin, I make my way to the Cooper. As I shut the door, I can see little drops of precipitation falling from the sky—and thus, my sunny day is gone. Once the iPod is back into the dock, shuffle is hit, and _Why Does It Always Rain on Me, _streams.

_I just… My Life: irony._

_-LMHYBT-_

As I unlock my apartment and hang up my coat, I look around the space, standing with my hands on my hips.

_Meh-heh-seey_. Yawing, shrugging, I make a mental note to clean it later.

_Ugh. Bed. Now._

Humming with content, I peel my clothes of my weary body, loving the feel of the soft sheets against my skin as I slip into bed. "And _this_, is why we splurge on Egyptian cotton," I sigh.

This is best I've felt all day.

"Huhhhhh, _yes_…"

The rain patters on my windows, enveloping and amplifying my comfort. Warm, soft, _Egyptian_, comfort…

…...

…

..

.

_._

_.._

…

…

_I feel warm, hot even._

_Everything feels so… good. There are sparks everywhere._

_A nose runs the length of my torso._

"_You are so, soft."_

_I let out a low moan, loving this touch._

"_You're soft in other places."_

_A firm hand kneads my abdomen in slow, deep circles._

"_Open your legs Bella," he commands, concurrently pushing my thighs apart. "Tell me what you want."_

_What?_

"_How can I touch you properly Bella if you wont tell me what you want."_

_Abruptly, he hand is on my panty covered pubic bone, fingers massaging me aggressively, eliciting a loud gasp from me, louder than I expected._

_Everything is jolts and delicious somethings, _everywhere.

_Reaching further down, his pointer and index fingers make a V, pressing, sliding up and down on my lips. It makes my stomach clench._

"_Is this what you want?"_

_I don't know!_

"_You're soaking your panties Bella. You're wet."_

_What?_

"_Do you want to see?"_

_I can't—_

_Curling his fingers into the side of my panty's, he pulls— _

**GASP**!

I shoot up from my bed just in time to see my hands taking a southward path to 'no-no land'.

Instead, with fingers immediately buried in my hair and head between my legs, my body rocks.

I can barely hear the whispers of _what the fuck_ over my heartbeat.

Everything is hot. Everything shakes. Everything is fucked.


	6. Chapter 6

…

…

That man-bitch.

…

I truly do detest waiting.

…

And bronze-haired shitheads.

…

I mean for god sakes, it's 12:45 already! He's 15 _minutes_ late! And it couldn't have been as if he wasn't aware of our appointment—he had the damn thing scheduled three days ago! And-And-_And_ I even reminded him during our, alter-alter_cation_.

…

You know, I don't give a flying fuck if he's more gorgeous than—well, than anything I've ever known, but his perpetual habit of tardiness is diminishing any redeeming qualities I've found in him. If any. He's becoming ugly in my eyes.

…

_Lies._ _All of it._

_Sigh_.

Yes. I'm well aware of that fact.

But being late is still inconsiderate.

…

…

"12:_50_… _Really?"_

There are other reasons as of lat, as to why I dislike when people were tardy, other than the obvious… My mind likes to wander, and it usually brings me to memories of things I find unpleasant.

_Guess where my mind went today._

_The_ dream.

Well, it was more of a terrifying nightmare.

After I awoke from the images of a faceless man touching me, doused myself in a cold shower, gave my kitty the death glare and a look of which I believe conveyed '_I expected more from you_,' I was finally able to lie down again.

I overreacted. Clearly.

Everything is not fucked.

In fact, I remember thinking, _this is utter bullshit_.

Because it was. It _is_.

Further more, after a minute or two of deliberation, I even shifted my hand until it was resting upon the danger zone, spread myself, ran my index finger over my clitoris and gave it a little prod.

I mumbled "Ugh," after jerking my hand away.

It didn't feel good. At all. That was uncomfortable more than anything. There was a _feeling_ of course, as I had fully functional nervous system, but not a _feeling_. I didn't moan and groan and squirm out of pleasure. I have no idea _what_ other woman are talking about.

With that, I closed my eyes and fell asleep once more.

I didn't dream of the faceless man again that night.

…The next night was another story.

The faceless man managed to pull my underwear down a few inches.

And _again_, I carried out what I've now dubbed as the _pokey-test_; it's merely a way for me to prove to myself that this is not a legitimate sexual awakening, but that my mind is simply facocklating with me.

Which it is.

Or something.

So, you see, if I was becoming a nympho, then surely my body's reaction would be the concluding factor.

And there is no reaction.

So I'm not becoming a nympho.

I digress.

… I wonder if he'll bring up our conversation in the alley… _I hope not_.

… I wonder if he'll treat me any differently today. _I can only hope so_.

…I wonder if he's thought about me… I've thought about him. In passing. Briefly…. _Probably not._

In other news, were you aware of the fact that it's really fucking _rude_ to be late?

If I wasn't so petrified of genitals, I would so willingly perform a castration.

"Why _the fuck_ do you _insist_ on having the fucking doors here closed all the damn time!"

"So that people like you harm themselves, and fucking die!"

…

I spoke that aloud didn't I.

"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit I apologize!," I practically shriek as I tumble onto the floor from the examination table, and rush to the door to find a fuming and ambivalent Edward on the opposing side. "I didn't even realize you were outside, or that I even _said_ that—" I have to stop and catch my breath before I pass out on the floor in front of him. I can only imagine the humor he would find in this situation: the _physical_ _therapist _of all people passes out in a medical centre.

_Ha ha, ha ha _ha.

"You know for someone who doesn't like expletives, you've got quite a mouth on you."

"That," _heave_, "never," _heave_, "happens," _heave_. I'm clutching the door for support at this point.

"Well when you're finished doing… whatever _that_ is, could you move so that I can sit the fuck down? My calf's stinging like a virgin's broken pussy and for a PT centre you have a shit ton a' doors, so…"

"But of course. We can't have your limb feeling like a detached hymen now can we," I glower back. _Oh _Edward; I don't know how he does it, but without fail, no matter where I am or what I'm doing he manages to piss me off.

_Well, clearly, nothing has changed._

I chuckle softly, humorlessly to myself. _And why would it?_

After I can breathe again, I grip the door open so Copper can hobble through and over to the table; as he begins to remove his jacket, I shift over to the sink to wash my hands.

"So, because our session was cut short during your last appointment, we'll have to finish your assessment and routine plan today," I inform him, scrubbing between my fingers.

He doesn't respond.

"So let me just finish up here and we'll head down."

... _No_?_ Nothing_?

"Uh, did you bring a change of shorts with you? Jessica should have sent you a memo about it, because you need to um, well you need to change."

Finished cleansing, I turn around to see him hunched slightly with a seemingly quietude demeanor, but his eyes hold an unmistakable hostility, glazed… Like he's not here.

"Edward?"

He suddenly snaps out of the haze and his spine jolts upright, causing him to wince from the pain in his neck and ribs perhaps.

"Fuckin' cuntbags," he hisses, reaching up to bow his head and rub his neck.

"No no no no Edward don't do that, you're going to do more damage than good," I say, rushing over to stop him. Before I can actually touch him though, he moves his hand away and places it back on his jean-clad thigh.

"Yeah okay I get it. So, what was this you were saying about needing me to take off my clothes?"

I clear my throat. "I asked if you had brought a pair of shorts to change into. Jessica should have—"

"I did," he says, interrupting me, while producing a pair. "So change then?"

"Yes, if you could please, then we'll get started."

He throws a devastatingly delicious smirk at me and, to my horror, unbuttons his jeans and unzips.

"As much as my cock loves to be stared at, I'm gonna need some help here."

…

Shit. _Shit!_ His penis! I'm staring at his penis!

"_Fuck_—" I slap my hand over my mouth.

The smirk turns into a full-blown grin.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'm just uhhh, not processing things today, I'm usually so much more professional and I wasn't staring, I was just um, I don't," I begin to shake my head back and forth rapidly, knowing I sound like a fucking buffoon. "I just um, _fudge_. Okay, I'm going to help you with your pants now, right?" Shaking my head in confirmation, not looking for his reaction, I scuttle over and attempt to avert my eyes from his… _appendage_, although the dark grey boxer-briefs are practically waving howdy. After clearing my throat, I reach upwards to the top of his jeans and tentatively hooked my fingers into them.

_He's so warm_.

"Uh, I need you to lift up for me," I all but whisper.

"Up?" The smirk is back, or had it never left? My guess is the latter.

"_Thrust_, I need you to making the motion as if you were thrusting upwards." I squeeze my toes together and try not to blush like a lobster; even _I_ can hear the sexual innuendo.

"Oh I can do that," and he does as he shifts his hips off the table, making it easier to slide his jeans off; as I'm yanking the pants downward, my number one priority to avoid his, _it_, and focus on anything else.

His thighs—well his right thigh—seem strong, muscular.

"Were you in good physical shape before the accident?"

"I would work out almost everyday for an hour." I nod, now comprehending where the toning of his non-injured leg formulated.

As the final fabric of the dyed denim is tugged from his lower leg and down his feet, the angry puce scar marking his calf comes into view—evidence from his recent surgery. When I hear him release a sharp breath, I look up to find that he too is transfixed on the blemish; the indignation and anger is so self-evident I almost gasp.

_You angry, beautiful, man… What _happened_ to you._

Tentatively, I raise my hand to his calf and gently place my thumb, pointer, and index finger on either side of the scar to lightly press and probe. "Do you feel any pain or discomfort when I do this?"

"Not really."

"What about if I add more pressure."

He grimaces. "I'm fine."

_Sure you are_. I add a bit more pressure.

"Ow! Fuck!" he hisses.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to get a general sense of how far along your achilles tendon has healed since your surgery. From what I can tell you seem to be healing fairly well, but again, I wont know until after today's session."

He rolls his eyes. "Shouldn't I be putting on my shorts now?"

"Oh! Yes! Let me just retrieve those." I bend downward slightly to place his feet in the shorts when he suddenly grabs them from my hands and proceeds to yank them up his body, all while donning a grimace.

"Edward you're obviously in pain, why wont you let me help you? That's what I'm here for." He gives me a look that says, _I have no intention of answering that, so please shut the fuck up_. Or something. Perhaps sans the 'please'.

"I'm fine," a hash grin creeping in.

I try not to let my eyes plead as I gaze at him, and motion to the door. "Okay well, let's get you down the hall so we can get started." As he slides off the table and grabs his crutch, he's silent. I stand to hold the door open, and once he's through I continue to walk behind him, keeping at his pace. As I'm about to tell him where to go he stops suddenly.

"The fuck Doc! Where the hell am I going!" He twists his head slightly to look at me.

"We like to go by first names here _Mr. _Cullen, _if you'll remember_, and I was about to inform you that all you have to do is turn left here and continue all the way down the hall until you see the glass door." After successfully getting him down the hall and through the door, I ask him to sit on the nearest padded table. "I'm going to remove your shirt now, but I'll need your assistance Edward, and I _need_ you to take it slowly."

"You want it _slow_ Bella?"

My breathing stutters in the slightest. "I don't want you to put any more strain on your ribs than you have to, so yes please, go slow." Although I want to admonish him for his innuendo, arguing would only divert us from the task at hand… And honestly, I need desperately to focus on his examination—to get into my 'therapist headspace'. I'm in control there. "Okay I need you to steadily lift your arms up above your head." He complies and winces only once. I take hold of the sides of his shirt and gently drag them upwards; my knuckles skim his abdomen and I feel tight skin and indentations, indicating firm muscles underneath. I stop only once to pull the neckline over his face and lift the rest of the fabric off his extended arms. "Now slowly bring down your arms to a normal sitting position; just do what's comfortable."

"Are we gunna be doing this _every_ session?"

"Let me assess your neck and then we'll discuss your ribs."

"Fine," he huffs.

"Okay then. So I'm going to ask you to do a series of movements and stretches with your neck. It's vital that you tell me which ones cause you pain, all right?" He blows a deep breath through his nose. Fine then. "Can you please move your neck to the right and then to the left? Good. Any discomfort?"

"S'not that bad."

"How about moving up and down?"

He hisses through his teeth and mutters a "Fuck."

"I'm assuming those movements were worse than the side-to-side?" He glares at me.

"Edward, I can't be one hundred percent positive if you don't give me verbal confirmation! I don't want to misdiagnose you and create a program that could do more damage!"

"_Yes_, the up-down hurts more than the side-to-side!"

"Okay then. Thank you for letting me know… Now can you make a full circle? Good. Can I assume that when you roll towards the back and front the pain increases?" He nods. Setting my chart down, I place my hands between his shoulder blades; his skin is so smooth. _Steady breath Bells_. I gently begin to press down with my fingertips and create small circular motions, attempting to ignore the tingling, getting a feel of the muscles; he's very tense and tightly wound. _Something we have in common_, I grumble inwardly. "You seem to carry a lot of tension in your back… Do you feel any pain when I do this, or have you been having any in this area?"

"Uhh, it's felt kind of tight occasionally, but I don't usually have pain."

"Okay."

He groans suddenly. "That feels really fuckin' awesome though." I remove my hands to make a note.

_Do I… __like__... that noise? Was it sexy? _Ummm, I don't know_? Did I want to hear it again? _Uhh, I don't know_?_

"Do have any pain that radiates down your arms, to your hand or fingers? Or do you feel a numbness or tingling in your shoulder or arm?" He shakes his head. "Okay, great." I take a few more notes. "So, I think what we're going to do for your neck is deep tissue massage therapy and ice treatments afterwards. By doing this we'll be able to bring down the inflammation and relieve the pain. When you're at home though, I would advise you to purchase a cervical pillow and use it for about three to four weeks." He nods. "You'll also need to do stretches," I say while handing him the list of exercises. "Watch me: you'll need to do flexion," which I demonstrate, "extension, lateral bending, and rotation. Please remember to take it slowly though. In addition, you'll need to gently stretch your scapular stabilizing muscles, which includes the trapezius, rhomboids, serratus anterior, and latissimus dorsi. Again, _slowly_, you don't want to prolong the recovery of your ribs." I point out each one on the diagram.

"I got it."

I nod. "Speaking of your ribs, your chart says you fractured two?"

"That's right."

"Okay. So, based on your x-rays, I can see that you had clean breaks, so we'll stick to standard methods of repair. This will include deep breathing exercises, gentle stretching of your upper body, and resting as much as possible. If you stick to the regimen your ribs should be healed in about four to five weeks.

"Is that all?" he asks, a lazy, sardonic smirk stuck on his face.

"_If_ you stick to the regimen. That's crucial."

"And what if I don't? What if I just say _fuck it_."

_What the fuck _is_ this? _I sigh deeply. "Your recovery will take longer and you could permanently impair you ribs, which will ultimately affect your respiratory system."

After a moment, he murmurs, "Good to know."

"Moving on then… So the breathing exercises: I'll teach you to do them here, and then you'll need to continue to do these at home, all right? Good. Now you can do these while either lying down on your back or sitting upright in a chair; you're going to take a deep breath, breathing as deeply as possible, holding this breath for one second, and then slowly exhale and empty your lungs. Here, watch me." I do as I've explained, although I can't look him in the eye, and exhale. "Now you try." He raises an eyebrow. "You only have to do it a few times, but I need to be sure that you're doing it correctly. Lie down, that should be easier." I move around to the side of the table by his stomach as he scoots and lowers himself. _Oh yes, that is indeed a sculpted man_. Placing my hands on his stomach, I try not to feel the robustness beneath. "Just like I said, take a deep breath, as deep as possible—" he does, "—deeper, deeper, go a little bit deeper, but not so much that it's super painful—" he obeys, "—beautiful, now hold that in… Hold it, hold it for another second, and now slowly exhale… Good, really good."

I look up to find him smirking. "WHAT?!" I shriek, slapping him across the face with such force that he falls off the table.

…

No not really. _But I want to_.

"Yes?" He sakes his head.

I remove my hands from his body. "Can you sit up again please?" He does. "You should do that a few times a day, the breathing. It should help you manage any pain." I grab my chart again. "So… all that's left is your calf? No other problem areas I should know about?"

"Nope," he replies, popping the p.

I nod my head. "Then I'm just going to go ahead and remove your brace." In doing so, I get down on my knees as he scoots forward on the table. "I've finished with your upper body examination, so you can put your shirt back on if you like."

He says nothing and continues to fucking _smirk_ like the prick he is. Yet, he makes no motion to cover himself.

_So, he's going to be like _that.

…

_It's merely another body Bella. Relax. It's a body… You understand anatomy, you _know_ anatomy, anatomy is your best friend… I _refuse_ to let myself tremble..._

"Oh_kay_ then, so I'm just going to test your limb with little bits of passive motion now…" I move his ankle and subtalar joints around in miniscule circles, clock wise, then counter-clock wise, to then cease. "Are you feeling any pain? I imagine you're still tender from the surgery—"

"**FUCK! YES, you **_**fucking**_** bitch! Motherfucking OW**!"

"Shit! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I know you're in pain, but you have to get used to this or you could risk never walking properly again! I'm sorry Edward, I _know_ this hurts, and I'm so sorry." My eyes have gone wide from his outburst, tears burning at the corners of my eyes; this isn't that abnormal—it's quite common for me personally to become very emotional when experiencing a new patient's outburst… I just don't know if this is because of _that_, or because, I not sure, because he called me an expletive… Rationally, I _know_ it was because I hurt him but—but I had… And I _know_ this… _Fucking fuck._ "Edward I'm sorry—"

"I _heard_ you the first—"

"I'm sure you did, but—but you realize I'm going to have to do that again?" I refuse to let myself fall into a whisper: I am in control here. I am a professional... "...And I know it hurts, but you have to push yourself here if you want to get—"

"I know I know, I get it."

I don't know what else to give him but another apology: this beautiful, angry, complex, injured, fucking _infuriating_ man.

I hear him blow out a deep breath. "_Shit_." I look up. "I'm sorry for calling you a bitch doc… You're doing your job. I get it. It's not your fault that I'm like this."

I smile and nod. I think I hear him whisper something, but I can't be sure.

"You know, it helps when you're distracted during the painful portions." He looks up and quirks a brow. "Converse with me. Let me ask you questions about whatever, and we'll see if that helps." I sink back down to my knees and give him a look that says, _I'm going to start again_. I begin to make circles, although my movements have slowed. "What do you do for a living?"

He winces but answers me through clenched teeth, "I'm a photographer."

"Yeah? What do you shoot?"

"My usual focus is—_Shit_—uh, is nude models. With deformities."

"Deformities? How so?"

"Physical and mental."

"Oh… Is that your only focus? I'm going to speed up a little by the way."

"_Fucking shit_, OW." _I know Edward, I know._ "No. I shoot print ads on side."

"Are they um, normal? Can I say that? _Normal_?" My stomach tightens and drops. Just the slightest. _I must be hungry_.

"Yesssss," he hisses.

"Did you go to school for this?"

"No."

"No?"

"I was mentored."

"Oh, by who? Have I heard of them?"

"Alec and Jane Volturi. They're relatively well known in this area, but they're primarily known in New York and Los Angeles."

I nod. "And… are you from this area?"

"No, I'm from Chicago. The north shore area."

"With all the Jewish people?"

"Yep."

"With all the _baruch atah adonai elohaynu melech ha'olam_, and all that?"

His eyes widen and suddenly he bursts out laughing, with a few _fucking ow's_ thrown in. "The hell! How the fuck do you know that?"

My own grin mirrors his. "My mother made the decision to convert to Judaism when I was younger. Then she became a Wiccan. Then an Atheist. Then her predilections were focused more towards arts and crafts." _Oh, Renee_.

"I had an aunt who was like that… Only she—FUCK, Bella fucking fuck, _goddamnit_ **stop stop stop**!" I startle, but my hold on him does not relent.

"I know I know Edward, just one more to each side and then we're done."

"_No_, we're done _now_," he growls. "I have a _very_ high tolerance for pain, but I'm fuckin' done with this bullshit."

"_Edward_, look at me." I wait until he does. "One more. That's it." He doesn't look ready to concede. "Grab my hand."

"_What_?"

"Grab my hand and squeeze."

"I'm not a fucking child—"

"It will help. Focus on the touch of my hand as opposed to your calf." With a look of unambiguous vexation (and perhaps a bit of incredulously), it's clear that he has no desire to acquiesce. "Edward… please trust me. Please trust that I know what I'm doing, and that I'm going to help you." His eyes soften ever so slightly, and to my surprise, he grabs my hand, squeezing his eyes shut and releasing a breath.

"Just like that… Okay, now relax and it'll be over soon." Waiting a few seconds, I slowly move his ankle and subtalar joints to the right and then to the left, his grasp increasing so much that I barely contain my own cry of pain… He needs this though; it's worth it.

"Okay. You're done," I tell him, blowing out a breath. "I'm going to retrieve an ice pack for you, and then we'll discuss what will continue from here on out."

When I return, my heart sinks a bit: the look of ire has reappeared. Feeling dejected, I drag a stool over to the table and try to benevolently lay the ice on his injury.

… I listen to his breathing, the blue liquid swishing around, my heartbeat in my head…

… To my own bewilderment, I wish I could say this silence was pregnant; instead, it's empty.

Edward's far away.

Hesitating, I ask "What were you going to say before, about your aunt?"

He looks at me, blinking; these eyes then seem to glaze—sadness? Ambivalence? Is it still anger?

_This_ pause is pregnant.

"Edw—"

"I was going to say… that only she was a cunt."

I wince—of course _he_ would use the word off my list that I don't even allow myself to _think_—and my eyebrows shoot straight the fuck up… I just—I mean… _What?_

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to."

He's correct…_of course_, but that doesn't terminate what I'm feeling… whatever it _is_.

I nod in acquiescence. "Okay."

"So what's next?"

"Oh, um, yes," I look around spastically for my chart. "Well, next week we'll begin some progressive resistance exercises, or PRE's. It will consist of rebuilding your mobility and strength using resistance bands. After a few weeks of this we'll move up to more aggressive gait training exercises, and re-teach you how to walk normally." He nods his head but displays nothing else. After a moment of silence, I let him know that we've finished for today. I offer to help him with his shirt but he declines sharply. We walk back to my examination room to retrieve his belongings and down to the waiting room.

"Jessica, will you please help Edward schedule his next appointment? I was thinking—"

"Can I just call the office later to schedule the next one? I have some shit going on with a few of my shoots this week and next week. My schedule is a little fucked right now."

"Uh, Edward, you do realize that you _have_—"

"Jesus fuck," he mutters. "Yes, _doctor_, I know. But I just-I don't know what's going on this week or next week, and I just… don't know. I'll call as soon I know what's up." He's looking more unhinged by the second and struggles to put his leather jacket on. I want desperately to assist him, but I know I'll be rebuffed.

"Okay. But please, make the appointment as soon as possible."

He nods, not meeting my eyes, and shuffles on his crutch to the door.

"Edward?" I call, closing the distance between us and placing my hand on his arm. "You did beautifully today. Honestly." He turns his head to look at me. I don't understand what I see. "I… I know that—Well, I know that you don't want to be here, and I can tell this is strenuous for you, for reasons _I don't know_, but… You can heal Edward… I'll—" I stop myself, and take a breath. "I'll heal you. Let me help heal you Edward."

His eyes tighten just the slightest. "It's not… that simple, Bella."

"That's—," I'm interrupted when the Strawberry Slut appears.

"Tanya, what the hell are you doing here? Em's coming to pick me up."

"Hi baby," she coos. "When Emmett mentioned he was gunna go get you I was like 'no I'll go get him it's cool,' and then he was all 'sorry ho, he asked me,' and I was all 'fuck you I'll go get him,' and then I left."

"Wha—the hell Tan? If I ask Em to get me then I'd prefer if he came and got me," the poor man says, rubbing his eyes.

"Baby we haven't seen each other in like forever… And I'm horny," she whispers, not so whisper-like.

Nausea rolls through my stomach.

I really do need to eat.

Edward rolls his eyes. "I told you I have shit to do for my shoots."

"I _know_, but—"

"Okay, Tanya, if you came to pick me up, then let's get the fuck out of here."

"Kay!"

Turning back to me, gently, he says, "I'll see you soon."

"Edward—"

"I'll see you _soon_, Bella."

I nod and give him a small smile. "Don't forget your exercises."

His eye roll is so predictable. "Yeah."

"Okay then."

He leaves with the SS holding the door open, almost smashing him in the process.

…..

…

..

.

_._

_.._

…

…..

_I'm on a bed._

_This is the same: a nose, a hand, my voiceless thoughts._

_But it's different: I'm naked. The white underwear is gone._

_His hand slithers and takes hold of my breast, squeezing, rubbing, before swiping a thumb over my nipple. To my amazement, it pebbles._

"_You're responsive."_

_But I'm—I'm not. I've _proven_ that I'm not._

_Pinching, pulling, twisting between to fingers, he plays with the now tight bud._

_I gasp, reaching for something to grasp._

"_Look at what happens when I touch you Bella," he murmurs huskily, another hand creeping downwards. The kneading begins, and I can feel _everything_._

_My body writhes and twists and clenches, my high-pitched whimpers and his heavy breathing fill wherever we are._

"_This is for you."_

_Suddenly, the faceless man isn't so faceless: the nebulous body becomes pale, beautiful, sculpted, and robust. The hair is a messy fix of bronze, and the face masculine—strong, intriguing, and… green eyes._

"_Fuck_!"

Clutching my throat, I feel as if I can't breathe.

Gasping, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles, the image comes back to me

_Edward_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, _I know_ I've been shit-tastic about updates, but I AM working on it! I'm looking at pre-writing the entire story first, so when I _do_ update, you'll get a new chapter every week.**

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**I love you all, with a deep, inappropriate passion. So do Injurward & Spazella.**

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